It's a Mad World
by Tartan
Summary: My own little story of Jono's dissapearence in Uncanny X-men 423. A la personal journey into the netherworld. Enjoy! Please RR, hopefully lots of appearences by dead x-men!


"And I kinda funny,  
  
I find it kinda sad,  
  
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had.  
  
I find it hard to tell you,  
  
I find it hard to take  
  
When people run in circles,  
  
It's a very, very,... mad world.  
  
Michael Andrews: "Mad World"  
  
^=^A Realization^=^  
  
Why did it have to be Angelo?  
  
That was the only thought that flew through Jono's head as he watched Jubilee fell upon the dead body of the gray skinned Latino teen. He hadn't ever seen the young Chinese woman cry before, usually she played off the pressures of their scarring existence with a blazing optimism. But this, this, before them, Angelo was right before them, still, with no life left. How could she help but to react any other way? Tears streaming down from her rounded face, onto the Angelo's face that had acquired it's melted candle texture upon death, with no mind to give it it's usual shape. The face of a street-wise south L.A. boy, handsome even.  
  
Everett first, now Angelo....how many more would die? How many more would die for this damn bigotry? Hung upon a cross of all things, such a disgusting perversion of the very reason he should be accepted. Jono wasn't religious in anyway, but he had his sense of what was right. What sick bastards existed in the world, and now Angelo had died because of it. Jono was quite certain then God didn't exist, or if he did, he was the biggest bastard of them all. Something evil to be turned away from, if he would allow his own religion to be used like this.  
  
Jono looked at the other victims of "the Church of Humanity", some were x- men, some were total strangers, but none had been his friend like Angelo had, his best friend even perhaps. Now all lying and recovering from being used to make a threat, except Angelo, he would never rise again. Now he was just a faceless name of the thousands of other mutants who had died in this never ending struggle.  
  
Why could it have been him, Jono?  
  
Why should he have been spared? At all, at any time? It seemed every mutant had a target on their back for discrimination, which could easily lead to death. Never mind the battles, at least then you knew your odds, your chances, and it was just as much the same as anyone else's. Angelo hadn't died in battle, this had been a point blank murder.  
  
He looked at Paige.  
  
She had been the very reason he had returned at all. After all that shit with Sugar Kane, he had come back to her. The thing with Sugar Kane hadn't been real at all, it had all just been a cheap thrill, why couldn't she see that? Did she love him at all anymore? She was obviously mixed up with Worthington now, the good-looking rich boy. Who was now so nobly draining his blood away to save lives, but even the perfect angel hadn't been able to save Angelo. He glanced over at her, her head was downcast, her honey blonde locks hiding her lovely face as crystal tears ran down her face, her cobalt eyes no doubt dull with grief, as she comforted the weeping Jubilee. He wanted to go over and hold her close, tell her everything would be all right, that maybe he'd been wrong all along, about everything. But he couldn't, he reminded immobile in the face of such horror, grief, his own apathy.  
  
He knew how the other x-men would react.  
  
They would go out, find this Church of Humanity, fight them, probably win, and the grieving would be done with, wham, bam, thank you ma'am style. They had gotten so use to slaughters overt the years, this no doubt would make more than a ripple to them. Just another day as a x-man. Perhaps Jubilee and Paige would go visit Angelo's graveside, but he would not be remembered any further. He understood it was all a survival instinct, he understood it all so well. If you actually thought of all that had been lost to you, you would surely go mad. Would he go mad? If he ever in his career as a x-man paused to take in fully what happened everyday to his fellows? If he ever reflected truly how violent this world was, would he want to continue living in it? Or should he just become as apathetic as the rest of them? "Another mutant slaughter that we didn't arrive in time to prevent. Oh well, get the mops and brooms, time to clean up."  
  
It made him sick inside. Is that what he wanted, to be just some fighter who was really just as cold as his enemies?  
  
He couldn't stand being there anymore, in the cold infirmary, next to Angelo, in the huge house, surrounded by people that were surely really dead inside.  
  
He left, simply walked out, he didn't think, no, he was certain no one even noticed. No one even noticed as his footfall echoed in the empty hallways, too concentrated on their own lives. Where to? The hanger now, a vehicle could carry him so much faster then his feet to nowhere. He burst in with the energy of an escaped animal that had been caged for fifty years. A wild, hopeless expression on his face as his green eyes fell upon a black Harley in the cool garage. Though upset and slightly crazed, Jono still thought of "coolness" and grabbed the appropriate key off the wall. He could care less about who the owner really was at this point and revved the engine loudly. How good the vibrations felt between his legs! Right then it seemed to be the most alive thing in the entire mansion and Jono relished it.  
  
He sped out of the garage as the very embodiment of the phrase "Bat out of Hell". It was only midday and the sun was riding high in the sky in the warm air of the spring morning. It was a beautiful day, but death lurks at all corners. Since Jono had given no thought what so ever to a helmet the air raked it's fingers fiercely through his reddish-brown hair and whipped at his face. It was a lovely and tender thing to him, and exhilarating. The roads where slightly clogged in the small city but Jono worked the traffic with a less then caring attitude and soon enough was out on the country roads with only the occasional farm for company.  
  
He rode for hours; time slipped its chain off of him, allowing him to sink into a void, without emotions, without thought. The only thing that existed was the motorcycle beneath him, the sky above, and the landscape around him, and he was perfectly fine with that. He rode through valleys, thickets, the deep forests, cleared patches of forest that served as crop- fields. He regarded it all with dead, cold, eyes, why care? Why care at all? It would all just die, slip away from him. He was on a journey with no end it seemed, there was no stopping, the journey into a chasm.  
  
It was when the sun was two hours from completing it's circuit in the sky when he saw what he was looking for in his despair. He was traveling a mountain road, a mountain road that was now turning into it's first tight turn. He was high on the cliff face now, and there was no guardrail on the corner. The light at the end of the tunnel!  
  
With no hesitation he continued straight on with his cruising speed of fifty, making no attempt to turn the bike as he came up the corner. Closer, closer the chasm came, he briefly wondered if the x-men were off to fight Angelo's killer yet, whether they would ever find his body on this forgotten mountain road. Then........ the sensation of flying as he flew off the cliff, the falling, falling, into death's deep mouth below.........  
  
^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^_^  
  
A/N-Don't worry I don't intend for it to be a one shot. O.O  
  
So did you like? Hate it? Flames and praise are always welcome.^^ Just as long as you tell me something!o.O 


End file.
